Heart of the mountain, not really
by SeraNeko-chan
Summary: Bilbo has enough of stubborn Dwarrows, egotistical Elvenkings and meddling wizards. He is tired and wishes to go home, but war is coming and it brings death. Warnings: BAMF and fed up Bilbo and obscure Arkenstone theories. A one-shot (for now...)


Hey there! Here I am with a one-shot I just had to write, despite exams and my ongoing story I haven't updated in way too long. I'm a big fan of the book 'The Hobbit' and a fervent shipper of Bagginshield, though I have only slightly hinted at it in this fic. I also despise what Peter Jackson did with the films, so everything in here is based on the book and my own theories. I don't care if you hate me for that or not, that's just how I feel about it.

I don't own the Hobbit, that right is reserved to the wonderful Tolkien.

Now enjoy and review on your way out!

* * *

 **In them bones**

I feel tired to my bones as I watch the frenzied Dwarrows, frantic as they are in their search for more. More gold, more gems, more and more. It seemed they don't understand the dire straits we are in. Bard and the Elven king have combined their forces when Thorin rudely refused their request for help in the rebuilding of the ruined Dale and Esgaroth and compensation for their aid. A truly foolish move as the Elves and men then made sure we are going to starve in the midst of all this gold. A pretty tomb, I'll admit, but a tomb none the less. Yes, Dain and his army are marching on Erebor, but so are the Goblins and Wargs according to the thrush and frankly speaking, I have seen more than enough fighting and death. It would be too soon if I have never to see a dismembered body again!

The weight in my pocket seems to get heavier by the hour; while it whispers its treasonous promises of priceless treasure and power beyond compare. All I want, however, is some good food, a fresh pint and the fertile soil beneath my feet. I hate the stilted air in the mountain and the dead stones. It saps my life force slowly but surely, and it's already rather low after the long journey. With sorrow I look at the rags my fine clothes have become in the months passed. No buttons, full of tears and at least two sizes too big! Yavanna, I doubt even my closest Took-cousins would recognize me now.

The worst however is seeing my precious friends being consumed by the gold fever that took the place of their righteous anger, satisfied by Smaug's death. They crave gold and other precious metals with a zealous energy. No music resonates in the grand chambers, no laugher is heard and no stories, scandalous as only Dwarrows are able to tell them, are shared around the fire. In fact, often no fire is lit at all.

When I saw Thorin's refusal to act like the sane and reasonable king I know he is deep down, I made up my mind, difficult as it was. There is only one course left for me to take, if I want at least part of the Company to survive. It breaks my heart that I'm driven to take such drastic measures, but truly what choice do I have?! I feel that I stay here we will all die, either a slow and painful death between mountains of gold or quick and bloody on the battlefield.

Melting into the shadows, I make my way to the only exit. I'm moving very slowly and silently, so as not to disturb the mountains of coins and gems. The ring I still have on my person, but locked away in a metal box. The key I threw down a ravine away from the main chambers and corridors. I already have a distraction to deal with, no need to make things worse with a second one. Besides the ring is far much aggressive in its attempts to corrupt my soul and feels far more evil than the stone in my pocket. I will need to show it to Gandalf once this is all over. Certainly the wise Grey Wizard will know what to do with artefacts with such power.

Unsurprisingly I make it to the fresh air of the night unnoticed. Dwarrows aren't the most observant of folks by nature, and their gold sickness only makes it only worse. I take a brief moment to just stand there under the night sky and bask in the energies given off by all living things. After a minute or so, I pull myself together and make my way to the camp in the valley below the mountain. Elves and Men alike are standing watch, but dawn will be soon and their concentration is waning together with the darkness.

In the biggest tent, set right in the middle of the camp, the respective leaders are arguing about the course to take from here. Thranduil is, naturally, all for leaving the Dwarrows to starve and Bard, while more restrained, sees no wrongs in such a plan. He is hurt by the rude refusal of those he sheltered but weeks ago. Gandalf, however, worries about the army of Goblins that is steadily making progress towards Erebor and is frustrated about Thorin's stubborn attitude. He feels they will need Dwain's army to avoid being crushed by the Goblins. Just as the shouting reaches it climax, I speak up and I am surprised by how soft and cultured my voice still is, even after days of silence.

"Actually I'm pretty sure what's causing Thorin's bullheadedness."

The three powerful beings turn to me. I can't imagine how out of place I must look amidst the luxurious carpets and high wooden furniture. My only consolation is that the dimmed light of the brazier makes me only scruffy, instead of showing how ill I really am. Still it feels rather uncomfortable to present myself so unkempt. My once golden curls fall dirty onto my shoulders and having lost over half my weight in such a short time makes my skin sag a little, to say nothing about my clothes. The bags under my eyes do nothing but reinforce the aged look and it shames me a bit.

Gandalf lights up at the sight of me, his dearest friend's son. "My dear Bilbo, it's good to see you, though I had hoped to see you in better heath."

I accept the hug, lean into even, but glare at the old wizard all the same. "I blame you for all of this, you know. You could have warned me that the Dwarrows might be susceptible for gold fever and prone to attract every single little problem on their way. I acknowledge that I was getting lonely and bored in Bag End, but really did you have to make my first adventure so difficult? I'd been happy to have gone to Rivendell or something similar for my first time, but no. You just had to drag all the way to the Lonely Mountain to defeat a bloody dragon. I hope for you that you never meet my mother in the Afterlife, Gandalf, because I'm sure she's about as happy about this as I am!"

Gandalf gulps at the tongue-lashing I give him. For reaching only to his middle, I can look rather dangerous and intimidating. My mother was the one to teach me the basics, but living amongst Dwarrows has given my more examples than I could ever wish for. Even Thranduil and Bard shrink back as my presence fills the whole tent. More so when I actually turn to them, not sparing them now I've finally reached my breaking point.

"Don't think I've forgotten about your foolishness either, Thranduil King of Mirkwood. You had no right to lock up my Dwarrows like you did. Whatever wrong they may have done to you was eclipsed by your refusal to help them when Smaug attacked. You may no have wanted to attract the dragon's anger, but that doesn't mean you could have offered them shelter or supplies. Or you know, have found an army strong enough to slay the dragon sleeping next to your home. Instead you stood by and did nothing."

Thranduil draws himself up to his full height, but I cut him of before he gets the chance to speak.

"Yes, I get that you fought and defeated Mordor and are sick of evil and yet you allowed your people to live in the shadow of a dragon for _decades._ Why do you think that the trees of your forest are dead or twisted beyond recognition? What do you hold responsible for the spiders?"

The proud Elven king stammers, looking for words to defend himself from the accusations he knows to be true. Not that he will ever admit it, not even to the darkest corners of his mind. But I can see it in the way he eyes me, in the way he nods, so little it is almost unnoticeable, respectfully.

I turn back to Gandalf, discarding Bard's presence and the Man feels the cut clearly. In Laketown I treated him politely, friendly even. I think he understands though. I know I look even worse than I did back then, half-drowned and sleep deprived. I have lost far too much weight, making me look emaciated. The circles under my eyes are so dark a purple they are nearly black and I moved like slowly as if Erebor itself weights me down. And I know it, but I cannot rest until this is all over and the balance of Middle Earth is restored.

Inwardly I snort. Hear me, I almost sound like Gandalf. Wise and mystical usually isn't up my alley, but hey I've been through a lot. Cut me some slack.

"You want Thorin to listen? Fine, call him again tomorrow and I'll make sure he listens. I need you to stay on guard though, because if it will go like I think it will go, it won't be pretty. Meanwhile make sure that the armies gathered here are ready for the battle that is heading our way. It won't do to get surprised and overwhelmed. Too much is at stake."

They found themselves nodding along with me, my speech was rather sensible, though Gandalf looks deeply troubled and for a moment I fear he might try to stop. I won't let him, my task is too important. It has to be done, if I ever want to see my friends cured. Then it the moment is passed and he smiles. I smile back, hoping to communicate all that I can't say through it. I don't know whether it worked, but for now it is enough and I allow the Elven guard to lead me to an empty cot. I'm so exhausted I feel my bones ache, a dull yet constant throbbing, and I fall on the bed with my clothes on, out like a light.

They allow me to sleep until noon and after a hearty breakfast, I feel like I can face the horrors undoubtedly coming this way. As we approach the once grand gate of Erebor I feel numb. If my instincts are wrong I will lose my adoptive family. The Dwarrows haven't noticed, but I become to care about them like they my brothers and uncles. In fact I feel much closer to them than to my blood back in the Shire. Yet if I'm wrong … No I shouldn't think like that. I know it is the stone twisting my mind in a last ditched attempt to protect itself.

As Thorin, mighty despite his poorly kept appearance, ascends the balcony above the gate with the rest of the Company behind him, I steel myself and step out of the crowd assembled on the ground. Tears are gathering behind my eyes, but I blink them away, refusing to show weakness.

"Thorin, " I stop as my voice breaks. How it hurts to see this magnificent Dwarf, this King, reduced to a fool by the evil of the world. I take a deep breath and continue. " You need to stop this madness Thorin! An army of Goblins and Wargs is marching on Erebor as we speak and we need you and Dain to stop them. Whatever fights you have with Thranduil and Bard can wait!"

"Bilbo." He looks surprised. He shouldn't be. Hasn't he seen me waste away amidst of precious metals and stones? No of course not, he was to busy searching for his treasures of all treasures. "Why are you down there Bilbo? When did you slip away? Why did you?"

I stifle a sob. "Hobbits can't live on gold or jewels, Thorin. I need grass and earth and the sun shining on my head. And you need it as well. You are going mad, Thorin! As caught it the gold fever as you are you don't even realise it! But I've had enough and I'm ending it! Right here! Right now!"

I take the Arkenstone from my pocket, ignoring the gasps and shouts all around me. I lift it high in the air as I address my Mother. "Yavanna, Queen of the Earth, I ask your aid. This stone is corrupting the minds of your husband's children and I wish it destroyed. Please help me to rid Middle Earth from this evil!"

With an almighty swing I throw the cursed jewel on the jagged rock before me. People are shouting but I barely hear them, their words are just noise. The pale stone hits the rock, it cracks and white smoke comes out. It rises higher and a shape becomes recognizable: wings and a long neck, sharp teeth… suddenly Gandalf stands before me, staff raised. For once he looks powerful and intimidating. He utters some words in a long forgotten language and the smoke disappears.

I sag on the ground, utterly drained. Above me I see my Dwarrows shaking their heads, confused and drowsy, as if waking from a dream. Blearily I smile, they are saved. Whatever else might happen at least they won't fall because I was too afraid to try and save them. Thorin might be angry because I destroyed the Arkenstone, but he would get over it. He was sensible enough to recognize the origin of the curse that had lain on Erebor now the Arkenstone's true nature was revealed. Heart of the mountain, indeed! A heart it had been yes, but not of the mountain.

Strong arms carry me and I let the swaying rock me to sleep. Time to rest and heal.

Voices around me wake me from my slumber. My eyes stay closed as I enjoy the last drowsiness of a good sleep and the soft, silky blankets. The voices grow louder though, until I can't ignore them anymore and I open my eyes grudgingly. The lighting is dim so it takes a few blinks before I can identify the people gathered in the tent. Gandalf is the easiest to spot, as he is sitting nearest the brazier. I close my eyes again and fall back in the warm arms of sleep. my ears close to the sounds of battle, when I wake up it will all be over and I will be able to find my home at last.


End file.
